Chapter Forty-Three
Mindy
"Thank you, gentlemen." My voice echoes through the club. "I hope you enjoyed tonight's songs."
The room erupts in a burst of cheers and claps. "Come on, don't leave yet," someone yells out drunkenly. "Sing us one more!" The crowd joins in, encouraging me to stay.
I manage a smile before quickly stepping off the stage. My heart still feels raw from pouring it all out during my set. The audience is going crazy, but I can barely hear them over the hurricane of emotions inside me.
I quickly gather my belongings and make my way off stage.
I almost canceled tonight’s show. Between losing my mom, my surprise pregnancy, and the things that happened between Alexis and me, I wasn’t sure I can pull it off. But then, I reminded myself how singing has always been my therapy, a way to center myself. At least I can let it all out if I’m on stage. The tears, the emotion, the pain, they only enhance the performance.
I make my way towards the dressing room, desperate for a moment of peace and quiet. My mind is flooded with chaotic thoughts as I walk down the corridor. Being on stage tonight was intense. Not a single person in that audience noticed my tears. They were too busy drowning themselves in their own vices. So, I let it all out. Channeled all my pain into the songs. Every note, every word, was a tribute to my mom. To our bond and all the memories we shared.
Mom is gone.
Losing her is like losing my only lifeline. And what’s worse is that the pain makes me miss Maron even more.
It wasn't just my mom I was grieving on stage tonight. With every breath, every melody, my mind kept drifting to Maron. The pain of his absence, the ache for his touch, his love... it all came pouring out of me, raw and uncensored.
My rational mind knows it was my decision to run away. And I ran away for a reason. A really good reason. But my heart tells a different story.
An unexpected sob escapes me.
“ Emily, I'm pregnant. I don’t know how, but I am. And Maron doesn't even know.”
“ Take a deep breath, Mindy. You're not alone in this, okay? I'm right here with you.”
“Maybe I should tell Maron. He has the right to know. But... what if he freaks out?”
“Hey, Min, slow down. Maron said it himself. He needs an heir, remember? He’s not going to freak out.”
“Yeah, but this isn't like scraping a knee, Em. This is huge. I'm going to be a mom.”
“And you'll be amazing at it. So, are you going to tell him?
“I want to. God, I want to run to him right now. But I mustn’t forget about who he is.”
“Come on, sis. You know you love him and this baby.”
“I'm so scared, Em. I left him for a reason. Besides, how is this even possible? I thought I was infertile!”
“Miracles happen, girl. Especially when you least expect them. Just calm down and trust your heart. I’m here for you.”
“I miss you so much, Em. You’d be the best aunt,”
“And I will be. Now, are you ready to make that call?”
“No! Maron's not who I thought he was. And I don’t know what he’ll do to me.”
“We'll figure it out together, okay? Just calm your nerves and listen to your heart. It will tell you everything you need to know. You're stronger than you think you are, Mindy.”
I sniffle and wipe away my tears. My circular thoughts continue to plague my mind and I can’t stop it from happening. Why my brain is doing this all the time is beyond me. It’s always been difficult being in my head but now, after everything that happened recently, it’s almost unbearable. Maybe I should get into meditation or yoga. I’m starting to think that my hyperactive brain is going to be the end of me one day if I don’t do something about it.
I stumble into the changing room and shut the door behind me. I head straight to the couch and collapse onto it, feeling spent and emotionally drained. For a few moments, I just lay there, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. I already know my makeup is ruined from crying on stage and then all over again from having a "conversation" with Emily.
But eventually, I push myself up and sit down in front of the vanity. As expected, my mascara is smudged and the powder on my face is almost gone from my tears earlier. The only part of my makeup that still looks decent is my lipstick.
As I start fixing myself up before I depart, a sharp knock on the door breaks the stillness.
"Kevin?" I call out. "Just a minute, I'm getting ready."
But Kevin doesn’t respond. Someone else does. It is a deep, commanding voice that sends shivers down my spine. "Open the door."
My heart skips a beat, then starts pounding furiously against my ribcage. The air around me seems to grow thicker, heavier, making it hard to breathe.
Is this…?
I reach for the doorknob with trembling hands, the pounding in my chest becoming deafening. And as I pull open the door, I already know… It’s a scent I recognize all too well. The unique mix of cedar, sandalwood, something primal, and undeniably masculine. The same scent that drove me wild every time it touched my senses. And it’s not any different now. Even before the door is fully open, I can feel the intense response in my body.
I swing the door open, revealing the robust form of the man standing there. The man whose effect on me is something I’ve never experienced before, the man I ran away from.
Maron Korolev.
We stare at each other, and for a moment, time stops. Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn’t because my breath is caught in my throat. It feels as if the ground has suddenly disappeared beneath my feet. A whirlwind of emotions crashes over me – shock, fear, longing, and an undeniable spark of desire.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense, and I feel tingles running up and down my body, all the way down to my core. I’m pretty sure I’m wet down there already.
But there is more in me than just desire. The atmosphere is crackling with tension. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions hang heavy in the air between us. I know he’s not happy that I left him that night. I can see it in his eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw that as a ‘violation of our contract’.
Is he here to hurt me?
I take an involuntary step back. My hand grips the edge of the dressing table for support. My heart races, thundering so loudly I'm sure he hears it. I’m torn between the part of me that wants to run into his arms and the other one that is screaming at me to flee.
"Maron," I finally manage. My voice comes out weak. "What are you doing here?"
He doesn't answer. He just lets the heavy silence hang above us, looking at me with intent. I take one more precarious step back, but I can’t stop my eyes from devouring him - the stubble on his jawline, the sharp angles of his face, those insanely broad shoulders and chest. He’s dressed casually tonight, only wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. My treacherous thoughts drift to the memory of his lips on mine, igniting a flame that blazed through my body at his touch.
Dammit, Mindy!
But my body betrays me again as hot desire begins to pool between my thighs. My rational thoughts are pushed to the wayside, leaving only a throbbing urge and a primal craving in my core. I want him, completely and unapologetically, and I hate myself for it. I hate that my body is making decisions for me, especially when I know I should be cautious.
His gaze doesn't leave me.
"Maron," I whisper again. My voice is now shaking. "Please, say something."
He doesn't. Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, with a swift motion, he closes the door behind him. He then turns to me and takes a step forward. The blue in his eyes seems darker now, smoldering with a burning intensity.
"The club is closing soon," I stammer, trying to regain control. "We have to leave."
But he shakes his head, never breaking eye contact. In one slick move, he pulls out his phone and holds it against his mouth. "Kevin," he growls into the phone. His voice is guttural and commanding. "Lock the main door. Mindy and I will be staying here for the night."
What?
I didn’t consent to this!
What is he planning to do to me?
My heart pounds even harder against my ribcage, sending jolts of fear and unwanted desire through my veins.
"I'm not staying," I tell him. Instead of sounding confident, my voice comes out as broken and uncertain. But I steady myself to summon the strength I need to resist him. "Open the door, Maron," I demand, a little more confident now. "I want to go home. I'm tired."
Of course, he doesn't open the damn door. I’d be surprised if he did. He just takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming my senses. I instinctively back away, but our eyes remain locked. The air in the room is now crackling with heavy tension and unspoken desire. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, stirring a primal need deep within me. The need for him I’m trying to suppress.
Never in my life have I felt more conflicted between two polar opposites. The urge to flee and the traitorous desire to give in to his touch feel like they’re trying to pull me apart.
"Please," I whisper, my resolve wavering. "Just let me go."
But even as I plead, a part of me aches for him to refuse, to pull me into his arms and make me forget everything but the feel of his skin against mine. The internal struggle is maddening - my mind screaming to run, my body yearning to stay.
Maron's gaze softens for a moment as he scrutinizes me. It’s a flicker of something in his eyes - regret? longing? Whatever it is, it only lasts for less than a second. His expression hardens again, determination set in the line of his jaw.
"Mindy," he finally says, and it feels like a rush of relief. His silence was starting to feel suffocating. "We need to talk."
A wave of nausea washes over me. I stumble back, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. I look up at him, seeing him with fresh eyes. He’s the father of my child. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever met, who has the ability to turn my body into a dripping sponge of wanton need. But he also happens to be a mob boss. A very dangerous mob boss. The two images war in my mind. Part of me wants to blurt out the truth. Another part wants to run, to protect our unborn child from the violence of his world.
But then again, I'm carrying his child. A miracle I never thought possible - and he has no idea. Perhaps I should keep it that way. At least for now.
I wrap my arms around myself, as if I could somehow shield the tiny life inside me from the complexity of our situation. "There's so much you don't understand," I finally say. "A lot has changed, Maron."
But Maron doesn’t seem to care about what changed. He simply closes the distance between us, his strong hands gripping my face tightly. "Did Maurice make you cry on stage?" he asks, completely ignoring what I just said.
I stare at him. I never realized he saw me on stage. I never realized he saw me crying on stage. "No," I reply curtly. "Is this why you came here? To ask about Maurice?"
He brushes off my sarcasm and continues to stare intently at me. "Are you back with him?"
"No," I say firmly.
His grip tightens on my face, causing me to wince. "He told me otherwise."
What the hell?
"You decide who you believe. Now if you'll excuse me..."
He scrutinizes me for what seems like an eternity. He then releases my face and steps back. "I believe you. But that's not the only reason I came here."